


The makeshift roof

by Charlie_Bucket



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Abusive James Reynolds, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Child Abuse, Epilepsy, Fluff, Homeless Maria Reynolds, Homelessness, Illness, It got dark because I feel sad, It's how they became friends, M/M, Orphans, Physical Abuse, Poor Alexander, Poverty, Seizures, So does James Madison, Sorry guys, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Thomas Jefferson has epilepsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Bucket/pseuds/Charlie_Bucket
Summary: Hamilton takes one last turn, sighs as though the world were on his shoulders and heads for what appears to be a small covering, a sheet tied to two metal bars, held in place by two sand filled vases. There appears to be a few blankets underneath, and a plastic box.Thomas tells himself over and over again that it's not Alex’s. That he doesn't live here, he can't live here because he's Hamilton the smart mouthed, quick witted prodigy who laughs in the face of fear.But all fears are confirmed when Hamilton drops his bag underneath the shabby awning and sits heavily on the filthy blankets, before muttering “Home sweet home.” With a sardonic laugh.Basically TJeff is a giant fuck about homeless people without knowing Alex himself is on the streets, so he tries to help and also redeem himself. With a healthy dose of my favourite side ships thrown in ;)





	1. Open Mouth, Insert Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TJeff opens his mouth and inserts his foot. Little does he know, his barbs against Hamilton hold truth.

It had started, as most debacles involving Alexander Hamilton do, with politics. A simple throwaway statement from one Thomas Jefferson that had Alexander's hackles raised higher than anyone had ever seen before. Of course, it was commonplace for fellow students to see Alex pull himself up to his full height (which admittedly wasn't that much) and take anyone with a differing opinion down a few pegs. But never before had anyone seen Alex like this before. And the statement that started it? 

"Really, homeless folks should be cleared off the streets. Don't care how they do it, as long as they clear the clutter off the sidewalks, then it's a job well done.” Thomas had looked so proud declaring his statement in the school cafeteria, staring right at Hamilton, as if baiting him to join the fray. Even though Alex’s usual back up were missing in action, with Lafayette in France, renewing his dual citizenship, Mulligan out of school on work experience in a highly competitive tailor store and Laurens in South Carolina, redefining bravery by talking out about hate crimes. 

And for a moment, the school collectively held its breath as Alexander stood up, wound tight, as if holding a military stance. He glared at Jefferson, opened his mouth, the school simultaneously leaned forward, ready for Hamilton to blow Jefferson away. And then… 

Thomas sat shocked in his seat for the rest of lunch, feeling as though he had crossed an invisible line of sorts in the tenuous relationship he had built with Hamilton through debating. The look of utter hurt in his eyes as his mouth had snapped closed. Open again. Before spinning on his heels, head bowed and shoulders hunched and leaving the cafeteria in a flurry. Thomas frowned then looked up at his small group of friends. 

“You don't really think that, do you?” Jemmy asked, though it was more of a statement. Thomas shook his head in response. “So, in an attempt to be contrary and goad Hamilton you've managed to offend him.”

“I think he did more than offend him.” Aaron's steely voice interrupted whatever comfort Thomas could have leached out of his kinder friend. “I think you hurt him, and that's shit, man.”

Aaron was right, what he'd done was awful, and it wasn't just Aaron that was staring him down, it seemed like the whole school body had decided to glare after him. Though he scoffed at their looks. What the hell had they done to defend Hamilton. Glare all they want now, fat lot of good it did Hamilton ten minutes ago. What did they know about Alex? 

What did Thomas know about Alex?

He sighed and picked up his half eaten food, offering it around his table before it finally got snatched by Charles Lee. He headed for the door and thought to himself “If I was a small angry Caribbean boy, where would I stalk to?” and so Thomas spent the rest of lunch trying to find and… dare he say it… apologise to Alexander Hamilton. 

**  
Jefferson had absolutely no luck in finding Hamilton before the bell went and classes had to start, and he'd already had the class he shared with him taught by Mr. Washington before lunch. He now trudged off to Professor Seabury’s literature class, not ready to face the flamboyant free speaker who constantly spoke of Professor George Frederick as if he were a ruling monarch. Dude needed to get laid by his “King” promptly, preferably before exams started and they actually needed to be taught. 

He vowed though, at the end of the day, he would find Alexander and apologise, and pray to God that whatever chance at a relat- friendship wasn't completely sidelined by his stupid mouth. 

He counted down the seconds to the end of Professor Frederick’s class, which he had immediately after Professor Seabury's, trying to ignore the pink flush over his teacher’s face as Professor Seabury bent over one of the filing cabinets in his class, looking for an elusive folder. It was cringey to watch, and Thomas wanted out of the classroom as soon as possible before one teacher jumped another. That was something he could live without, thank you very much. He already had to put up with the drooling and gross looks between Aaron and Laurens. And he was certain there was something going on between Mulligan and Lafayette. 

He had already been slowly packing his bag before the bell went, so all he had to do was swing out of his seat and head for Mrs. Washington’s classroom to grab Alex before he left. And wasn't it weird that he knew Alexander's schedule better than his own? 

When he arrived at the classroom, he saw Alexander walking ahead with one of the Schuyler sisters, Peggy, arm in arm. Though he wanted to apologise to Alex, he didn't want to do so in front of a Schuyler, because she'd rip him to shreds, searching for any lies in his apology. So he lingered behind, and before he knew it, he was borderline stalking the pair as they met up with the remaining sisters and began to walk from the school. He followed them through the streets in the opposite direction to his own home, and watched as they parted ways at a crossroads. Alex smiled and waved at the sister's hugs and goodbyes, inherently awkward. And then he continued to walk. 

Thomas didn't know what came over him, he tried to muster up the courage to run over to Alexander. To be suave “Oh, you walk this way too? Great! While we walk I want to apologise, let me buy you dinner as a start to my apology?” but instead, he continues to creep after him. And creeps, and creeps, until he falls into a normal walk as the streets start to get shabby, and the houses have more cardboard than windows. A sneaking suspicion starts to sneak into his mind, one he desperately tries to force down. But that doesn't last long. 

Hamilton takes one last turn, sighs as though the world were on his shoulders and heads for what appears to be a small covering, a sheet tied to two metal bars, held in place in two sand filled vases. There appears to be a few blankets underneath, and a plastic box. 

Thomas tells himself over and over again that it's not Alex’s. That he doesn't live here, he can't like here because he's Hamilton the smart mouthed, quick witted prodigy who laughed in the face of fear. 

But all fears are confirmed when Hamilton drops his bag underneath the shabby awning and sits heavily on the filthy blankets, before muttering:

“Home sweet home.” With a sardonic laugh.


	2. The Determination To Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back at Hamilton's journey to where he is now and his fellow homeless friend.

When Alexander was seven, his father changed. Gone were the fun days out, the big dinners, the happy family that he had thrived on. And then, gone was his nice house with his own bed and the big garden and all his toys. And when he was ten, gone was his father. Of course, he understood now. After all, the saying goes “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking back.” His father had gambled away the money saved for days out, and when that ran out, the money for the food, electricity, the mortgage. When everything was gone, his father left his mother and a ten-year-old Alexander in a one bedroom, tiny, damp flat that leaked during the storms and kept no heat in during the winter. It was two years later that he got sick, a fever that made him feel as though his skin would melt off his body. And because he shared a room with his dear mother, she got sick too. No money for a doctor, no money for food and the electricity cut off four days after the illness grew worse between the pair of them because it wasn’t paid, their illness grew and grew.

His mother would hold him, her hold being the only strong thing that remained of her. She would sing to him in French and Spanish, and Alexander would sing along with her, his voice cracked and hoarse. But one thing he remembered with startling clarity was her last phrase, before she died holding him.

“Blow us all away, my dearest Alexander.”

Through his fevered haze, he remembers being pulled out of his mother’s hold, crying out for her, thrashing in the foreign hold. It wasn’t soft like his mother’s. It didn’t sing soft lullabies to him or tell him amazing stories in French and Spanish. This hold was tight and clinical and whispered lies to him.

“You’ll be okay, son. We’ll get you sorted out.” The voice lied.

“Don’t call me son.” He managed to croak out, before he felt a prick in his arm and fell asleep.

He didn’t know how long he was in hospital, but no matter what he couldn’t seem to die. He heard the doctors discussing what should be done with him

“He’s an orphan, they think the John Doe that died of alcohol poisoning was his father.”

“He has a cousin but… Well just look at the record. Admitted twice for alcohol abuse and three times for attempted suicide. You can’t send the kid to live with him. That’s just cruel.”

“We need the beds for paying patients. We have to get rid of him ASAP before he officially goes on record and we’re left paying for him out of our own pay checks. Contact the cousin.”

Two days later, after what he was told was two weeks in hospital, an unkempt thirty-something bum turned up and introduced himself as Alexander’s cousin. Alexander lived through three years with the cousin before he ate a bullet. Instead of waiting for police to respond to the shot, he grabbed whatever he could and left.

At fifteen, he stayed on the streets until an elderly shop keeper by the name of Benjamin Franklin took him in. He presented Alexander as his grandchild and pulled strings to have him enrolled in High School.

“You are very smart Alexander, very smart but also sharp. You must take these skills and turn yourself into something amazing. You’ll blow everyone away.” He’d said, eyes sharp and focussed.

Alexander had an amazing two years with Mr Franklin, regaling him with stories of school, the friends that he had made, the subjects he was learning (“I say learning Mr Franklin, I don’t think it counts if you are already aware of everything they teach.”) and the debates that he started with both students and teachers alike. Mr Franklin would always be supportive where he could. He treated Alexander like he was his own and helped him grow. It was only a matter of time before it all went to hell.

When Alexander was seventeen a hurricane swept through the town and destroyed anything in its path. Mr Franklin had died.

Alexander couldn’t seem to die.

The funeral was taken over by real members of Mr Franklin’s family, with Alexander fading into the background, only stepping forward to pay his respects to the only true father figure in his life when everyone else had gone. What was left of the shop was sold by his eldest son, the money divided and grabbed by family that had never cared about Mr Franklin whilst he was alive. It made Alex sick to his stomach.

He slept in an alleyway close to where the shop used to be. It had been turned into a Laundromat, which Alexander thought was Mr Franklin helping him from beyond the grave. The woman who ran it was nice enough and would lend him washing up powder when he came in to wash his uniform and what clothes he had left that hadn’t started to fray and while he waited for his clothes to be washed he would sit and finish all his homework. She would also hand him bags of clothes that looked about his size that people had failed to collect, meaning he always had something on his back. The schoolbag was a gift for his birthday from John Laurens, and whenever he asked why he didn’t just buy a new one, he would laugh and say he was sentimental. After a year on the streets it became a habit. He lived far enough away from the school that no one would find him and he begged enough money off the streets that some nights he could eat. He would use the showers at the homeless unit a few blocks away, but he never left his name and always dodged the “helpers” that tried to grab information from him. After a year on the streets, he fell into a numbing monotony, dark thoughts plaguing his every waking moment, the urge to just… stop being anymore. Of course, the only thing that stopped him was the vision of his cousin’s empty eyes. He had to stay alive, if only to stop himself from becoming like that.

A few months into his second year on the streets, he met a Miss Maria Lewis who was sleeping where he’d made his makeshift home. He shrugged and sat down next to the mystery woman who had claimed his spot for a nap, gently taking her arm to confirm she had a pulse. She looked about his age, wearing a tattered and torn red dress, her face heavily bruised. He pulled over the plastic box that would have been used to carry vegetables that he managed to ‘borrow’ along with a few apples from a nearby fruit store during some heavy rain. He doubted the owner would miss it much. He used it as a table and began to work on his homework, breezing through the laughable questions. When she woke, she startled backwards, nearly kicking down one of the vases and brining the whole bloody set up to their knees.

“Whoah! Careful, it’s alright I won’t hurt you, but you need to be careful where you put your feet!” He rushed to say, his hand lingering on her booted foot which lay just a few millimetres from kicking the vase.

“I’m sorry,” The girl muttered “I didn’t know if anyone lived- if this was someone’s spot. But I’ve been running for what feels like days and I was so tired and…” She began to ramble, tears coming to her eyes.

“What were you running from?” Alexander cut her off, better to get to a point than let the poor girl descend into madness.

“My boyfriend.” She whispered, her eyes darting around the alleyway as though admitting it would make the bastard suddenly appear. “He would beat me, but I told myself I was strong for putting up with it. I said I was strong for waiting out the hard times and relishing in the few good moments. But he… I had just got back from the store and he thought I had been… and I told him no but he grabbed me and... he tried to… and I just ran and ran and oh god he’s going to kill me.” She was hysterical, sobbing into her arms, her whole frame shaking. Alexander put a tentative arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

“My name is Alexander. Alexander Hamilton, and I may not be able to do much, but I promise to help you in whatever way I can.” He vowed.

“Maria Reyn- no, Maria Lewis, and thank you.” She replied.

Using the same tricks taught to him by Mr Franklin (the crafty bugger), Alex managed to get Maria enrolled in the same school, with minimal questions. It was risky and he knew it, one false move and Alexander would be in the care system and Maria, who was a year older than him, would be left high and dry.

And so, he and Maria became an unstoppable force. They put on a convincing “Help, we’re young, pathetic and homeless” front when begging coins off passer-by’s, and while it was demoralizing to have so many people scoff at them as they walked by in their thousand pound oxfords, they persevered. And when the day was over and they risked the wrong sorts taking interest on them in the highstreets, they’d buy something to eat and walk back to their tiny makeshift roof. That was just the way they expected life to treat them.


	3. Let's Play Happy Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' home life is less than ideal, but he soldiers on, albeit in a bit of a daze.  
> ***T/W FOR ABUSE!! PLEASE, IF THIS BOTHERS YOU, SKIP THIS CHAPTER!!***

Thomas didn’t feel the same satisfaction he usually felt as he tied his hair back that night to moisturise his face, slip in to his silk pyjamas (an outrageous magenta that never failed to annoy Laf) and laying down on his memory foam mattress. Pulling a duck-feather quilt around him, he wondered if Hamilton’s friends had any inkling as to where he went after school. Did Hamilton own a phone? How did he avoid sleepovers? And then Thomas felt stupid for thinking these things. How first world could he get? The real questions that burned the back of his mind were where did Hamilton eat? _What_ did he eat? How did he protect himself from the wrong sorts finding a homeless teen in a dark alley way? How did he wash himself? (And Thomas found his nose wrinkling in disgust. Definitely disgust. The thought of Hamilton, stark naked, the water running through his long hair, trailing down his back, following the line of water to – _well._ )

Thomas rolled on to his front, thoughts scrambled as he tried to reign himself in. _Now is not the time_. He told himself sharply. He knew his brother wouldn’t have a clue. Laf had a soft heart and would have instantly offered Hamilton a place in their home. Even with their prick of a father and their sister, Monica, constantly raiding the medicine cabinet for Thomas’ meds because they: “Made her forget how much she hated all of them.” The meds weren’t cheap, and his father always pitched a fit when Thomas turned up with empty pill bottles and a very blissed sister. He’d tried hiding the pills around his room, but Monica had completely trashed the place, pulling all his precious books from his bookcase before tipping the whole thing over, tearing out his outfits and scattering them about the room, smashing the lightbulbs in the lamps, until she found his medicine in his laundry basket, eternally grateful that she hadn't searched under the mattress, he didn't need his sister blabbing to their father about the half naked men in the magazines under his bed. (Hey, he was old school.) He learned then to accept defeat and leave them in the medicine cabinet, and pray that the next day he would have enough to prevent him from keeling over every five minutes.

If Laf was in the vicinity, his father would buy the meds without hesitation. Laf was the son his father wanted. Not the younger twin that caused the death of their mum. Laf was an easy birth, not a single cry out of him, all his baby pictures showing him with a gummy smile. Thomas on the other hand… Thomas was trouble from the start, he screamed as he came into the world and his mum screamed leaving it. He screamed in his pictures, he screamed as his father took them both home, he screamed through his mum’s funeral. These were all facts his father liked to remind him of whenever he was sober enough to tear away whatever self-esteem Thomas had managed to gather from the day. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he brought with him a whole host of medical problems that rivalled Jemmy’s medicine list. (Burr had seemed so sceptical when he’d first learned this, and wondered aloud how Jemmy always looked so unwell when Thomas looked in good shape. He told Burr he wore his defects with pride. That earned him an odd look from the whole table, even _Charles._ )

Lafayette used his good graces to keep Thomas in their father’s good books, but he also had to keep his dual citizenship if he wanted to study in France after high school. So off went Laf to and hello came Thomas rooting around in his sister’s cabinets (and wasn’t this a turn of events) to find the perfect makeup to cover his lovely new black eye. He’d use Laf’s, but he’d know instantly, his brother was scary when it came to makeup, but God his wings were always on point.

From what he’d heard through the grapevine, (Thank you Aaron and your creepy crush stalker skills) John Laurens’ father wasn’t any better than Thomas’. So, if he knew about Hamilton he was in exactly the same position as Thomas was. Hercules Mulligan lived in a flat with his four little sisters above his mother’s shop, so he doubted many doors were open.

And so, instead of sleep, Thomas stayed awake, brainstorming ways to help Hamilton and how to get his medicine off his sister before A) She took it all or B) Thomas had another fit. Thomas managed to muffle the sound of his father screwing whichever whore he had deemed appropriate. He wondered how a man with a makeshift roof still seemed happier than Thomas did with one of the swankiest houses on the block. He resolved to change (and _no_ for your information, it wasn’t a 4am promise that ultimately didn’t mean anything because he was shattered (Even though he was tired and it was 4am))

**

Thomas knew the day was going to be a bad one before his foot even crossed his bedroom door. Instead of waking up his usual peppy self, ready to face the day, he felt groggy, as though he were walking through a fog. His mind kept wandering, never able to focus on any one thing for more than a few moments. He dressed himself, though he hardly remembered what clothes he threw on his person. He vaguely remembered that he hadn’t reapplied the makeup around his eye, but he didn’t have the energy to even think about focussing on it. He stumbled downstairs and fumbled with the kettle. Carrying it to the sink seemed like a chore, the kettle weighing more than it should in his shaky hands, but eventually the kettle was on and he had his coffee. He managed to scald his tongue twice on it, momentarily forgetting that the water was _hot_ and hot water _burned_.

Monica must have realised his state of disarray. She didn’t look any better herself, her whole body screamed “I’m not high any more, help me”. She had the grace to look guiltily at Thomas before she skipped the kitchen altogether and headed for the front door. Thomas wished he’d followed a few seconds later when his father came stumbling down the stairs, a very plastic looking woman glued to his side, robe doing nothing to hide that she was naked underneath. Thomas looked away in disgust and went to exit the kitchen, scooping up his bag and stumbling to the front door. If he rushed, keep his head down, look down and he won’t notice you, THOMAS RUN!

“Tommy boy.” His father called, his voice sickly sweet. Too late. He stopped, his shoulders slumped in defeat, his bag dropped off his shoulder.

“Yes, father?” He replies, pivoting on his feet.

“Get over here.” His voice is deadly calm, his eyes steely sharp. Thomas squares his shoulders, his vision is hazy, but he tries to exude some of the confidence he wears in school. He is _the_ Thomas Jefferson. Exuberant, confident, handsome as hell. He can do this. He _can_ do this.

He walks towards his father, shoulders back, steps measured. He stops in front of him and his father looks him right in the eyes.

“Where’s me and Krystal’s breakfast, Tommy boy?” He asks, and Thomas, God, Thomas has to hold in a laugh and it makes him feel momentarily better.

“I’m sorry father, I wasn’t aware you had company.” He lies. Krystal simpers something in his father’s ear, pressing up against his side. His father just shakes her off. He takes a step towards Thomas and Thomas doesn’t step back. They’re nose to nose now, and his father takes in a breath, the disgusting smell hits Thomas’ nose, making it wrinkle.

“Well then, make us some you little shit.” Krystal giggles at that, high pitched and shrill and Thomas is so done. His head is pounding, he feels sick, his legs shake.

“No.” He states. And usually when he defies his father, he feels scared afterwards, a deep regret for angering the abusive prick. But his lack of medicine is making him hazy. He blearily sees his father’s face contort into rage, he shakes Krystal off his arm, draws back his hand…

**CRACK.**

Krystal manages to haul his dad away after a few well aimed kicks to the stomach after he fell. He manages to pull himself up the stairs, calm his panic attack, fix his face, change his clothes, wipe his tears and God they won’t stop coming. He uses what he can find to hide the worst of it, forgoes his usual mascara and eyeliner because the tears won’t stop coming.

He takes the back door out of the house, and somehow makes it to school. He glances at his phone outside of the gates, determined to waste some more time before he has to go in and manages to crack a watery smile at his messages.

 **LaffyTaffy Sent: 8:44  
** Bonjour, petite frère. Not long now until I am back on American soil! I’ve missed you TJ, I hope mon petit lion Alexander is still in one piece when I get home!

 **LaffyTaffy Sent: 9:00  
** Stay strong TJ, I hope you are also in one piece when I get back. J’aime ton frère.

 **MedicalBuddies(Jemmy (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜)** **Sent 8:56  
** Hey Thomas, the group was a bit worried when we didn’t see you outrageous purple blazer this morning as usual. Keep me updated, I’m on hand with Mac n' cheese if you need me!

 **Ay-Ay Ron Sent 9:25  
** Hello Thomas, I thought I’d keep you up to date on the King George and Prof Seabury romance. Prof Seabury tripped over his own ridiculous boots and was honestly seconds away from faceplanting to the ground when King George sprinted ( _Sprinted, Thomas_ ) towards Prof Seabury and caught him. And they stood there just gazing at each other. But Charles ruined it by sneezing. Fuck sakes Charles. He’s in a huff because we battered him with our books. This has been a gossip update. You’re welcome.

 **Charlie the fainthearted sent 9:10  
** I know Burr has already spilled but I have A FUCKING COLD SO SHOOT ME YEESH. (Hamilton looked a bit lost without you (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )

 Thomas laughed reading the texts, the walk had cleared his head somewhat and he truly felt happy to be in school, blushing slightly at Charles’ comment. He felt more like Thomas Jefferson as he walked past the gate and into the school, stopping by the school office to sign himself in, he headed to his study hall period. It was pure luck that he ran into Hamilton who was rooting around his locker.

“Where the fuck is my book, for the love of-“ Hamilton whispered furiously to himself, his head buried deep in his locker.

“Um- Hamilton?”

“Gagh! What the hell Jefferson, give me some prior warning before you sneak up on me like…” Hamilton took his head out of the locker and turned around to face Thomas, still talking. But as soon as his eyes landed on Thomas he trailed off. “What the hell happened to you, Thomas?”

The sound of his first name rolling off Hamilton’s lips was enough to forget that he probably looked _awful_ just now, with no usual makeup on and not a clue what he was wearing. He realised that he had been staring into space again and quickly shook his head, his vision blurring slightly with the movement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Hamilton.” He lied. And before Hamilton could point out the obvious lie, he cut him off. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was so caught up in getting a rise out of you that I didn’t think about my words. So, uh, sorry.” He finished awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, and wincing slightly. How the hell did his father’s beatings manage to reach the back of his neck?

Hamilton looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Thomas smiled at him and walked past, heading for the study room, his spirits slightly risen, that was a weight off his chest (though it didn’t compare to the tightness he actually felt in his chest, the feeling you get before bruises start to form, and God it felt like his whole body was covered in them. The pain radiated from every pore in his body.)

Quickly opening the door to study room and apologizing to the teacher, he headed for his table of friends.

“You couldn’t even last half an hour with me before almost destroying the KingBury ship.” He whispered in Charles’ ear, making him jump and turn around to face him with carefully crafted affronted face. It quickly dropped away when he saw the state Thomas’ face was in.

“Jesus _fuck_ Thomas what happened to you?” He hissed back, his eyes wide. At the whisper, Aaron and Jemmy turned to face him, similar looks on their faces.

“It’s nothing.” He says, smile bright and cheery and careful. “I was clumsy is all.”

“Bull _shit_!” Jemmy shouted, followed by Aaron’s shout of “Fuck that excuse.”

They’re quickly hushed by the teacher who hushes them, and continues to glare at them until they pretend to look invested in their books.

“Thomas please” Charles looks imploringly at him, before his eyes go slightly cross eyed and he turns away to sneeze, which quickly descends into a coughing fit. Thomas puts a hand on his back and rubs it until Charles can breathe again. “Thomas, let us help.” Aaron finishes.

Thomas hesitates, but it’s enough. Aaron jumps on that hesitation. “Sleep over at my place. We could all stay over tonight and you could stay the whole weekend. Theodosia is out of the house with her boyfriend, so it’ll just be us.”

Thomas dithers, but Jemmy has already quickly agreed and Charles has stuck a thumbs-up in lieu speaking.

“I’ll need to borrow pyjamas…” he mutters, and is quickly enveloped in the table’s quiet celebrations. He feels better and finally pulls out his books.

**

As the school day drones on, Thomas begins to feel worse, John Laurens is back in town and he entertains himself watching Hamilton and Laurens’ touchy-feely friendship make Aaron jealous. (He ignores his own jealousy) Aaron sits through lunch, glaring at the pair and he’s sure Hamilton is doing deliberately now. But his classes leading up to lunch were hellish, he would blank out, completely missing whole sections of the lesson without realising. He knows it’s risky to suddenly stop his medicine, but Monica had completely decimated his medicine cabinet. His last lesson of the day was Washington’s class that his group shared with the Revolutionary Set, which meant more glaring and pining from Aaron. (Though Aaron didn’t really do much in Washington’s class, he just sat and agreed with whatever seemed popular. Thomas loved the guy, but surely, he had some original thoughts on politics?) He had a debate with Hamilton today, his house was fighting against the death penalty and Hamilton’s was fighting for it. He was looking forward to the debate and had a pile of notes to get through in the time and no doubt Hamilton would match him word for word.

But the class before had worsened his condition, he had been out of it for most of the period, his stomach churning, an unpleasant smell hounded him and his arm started to get pins and needles. He knew the signs, of course he did, he’d grown up with the bloody seizures, but he was determined to get to Washington’s class. He met Jemmy in the corridor and they started their walk, and Thomas noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jemmy was walking closer to him, looking worried. He wanted to assure him that he was okay, so he smiled and cracked a cheesy joke about something or other. If anything, it made Jemmy’s forehead crease more.

They arrived at the class, the chairs organised in two sections. Hamilton smiled at him as he walked in, having already claimed the right-hand side. He tried to smile back, he really did, but everything was slightly hazy. He took his seat, Jemmy sitting beside him. Washington said something, everyone shuffled into seats, he lost a few seconds, Hamilton was saying something, flouncing around the room, he thinks he managed a smile. Washington says something else, Hamilton sits down, Thomas goes to stand up.

He takes a few steps, falls back a few, his body seizes up, he feels the world move from under his feet, he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I'm one of a twin, I'm the younger (by like 10 seconds shut up Kyle) but both me and Kyle have epilepsy. But the worst seizures I've ever had are clonic seizures (only 2 mins, kinda small) but Kyle, man he goes full Tonic-clonic, rolling around the ground stuff. We get all the classes together because we're the only ones who can handle each other lol
> 
> Also, thank you SO MUCH FOR OVER 100 KUDOS AND ALL YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ THANK YOU GUYS! IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME


	4. A Surprising End To An Awful Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because me and the fam are celebrating passover. We see everyone deal with Thomas's seizure like pros (except Washington, he is lost dad™) and we also see the beginnings of something between Aaron and John (Does anyone know their ship name? Do they have a ship name?)

James is the first one to move, his actions quick and assured as he rushes to Thomas, checking him for any injuries from his fall. It's difficult to discern if he  _ has _ hurt himself though, the wounds he walked into school with this morning looking fresh and raw,anything on top of the mess his face already is wouldn't affect much. Hamilton rushes forwards too, pushing any chairs and tables and wires out of the way so that Thomas doesn't hurt himself, and James is thankful for the help, seeing as the rest of the class has turned into vegetables.

He sits on his knees and leans Thomas's back onto them, keeping him propped at an angle so he doesn't choke. “Someone give me a jacket!” He demands, quickly being handed a blazer by Aaron, who hardly looks up from his watch, keeping a careful time. James gently slides the folded blazer underneath Thomas’ head and starts to talk to him, incomprehensible mumbles that likely make no sense. Hamilton reaches a hand out and places it on top of Thomas's jerking head, gently threading his fingers through it, comforting in his own way.

“Do we call an ambulance?” Mr Washington asks, but James ignores him, completely focused on keeping an eye on Thomas, praying to whatever deities exist that he doesn't swallow his tongue.

“Who's gonna pay for that, sir?” Charles asks, mockingly, his bad temper emerging in the stressful situation. Aaron shoots him  _ the look  _ before snapping his head back to the watch, forehead crinkling as it ticks by two and a half minutes. Charles takes a fortifying breath, slightly hindered by his blocked nose, remembering his calming techniques.

“What you could do is empty the classroom, and if the seizures goes longer than five minutes, call the school nurse.” Charles states, sneezing afterwards.

Mr Washington looks out at his class as though he's still surprised they're here. “Class dismissed.” he declares, “The debate will resume when Mr Jefferson is feeling better, please look over class notes.”

The class continues to stare at Thomas, pointing out things to friends and chattering away to each other. Washington is about to say something when Laurens’s voice interjects with “Hey, give the guy some respect, how would you like it if you were in his position and you had the whole fucking class staring at you?” Washington decides to let the swearing slide as the class looks contrite as they shuffle out of the room, until the only students who remain are Jefferson’s friend group, Hamilton and Laurens.

“How long?” James asks, briefly looking away from Thomas to check on Aaron.

“Three… that's four minutes.” Aaron replies, looking even more concerned, the wrinkle between his brow becoming so defined that James worries he'll have wrinkles at seventeen.

“Come on Thomas,” he mutters, turning back to look at him. “you need to come back now. You've never lasted this long, we're worried Thomas, you have to wake up.” Hamilton looks at him with wide, scared eyes, his hands still carding through Thomas’s hair.

“How long do they usually last?” He asks the room, eyes flicking to the other people in the room.

“Three or four minutes, James that's five, we need to get the nurse.” Aaron replies, sticking a hand out to grab onto Charles, halting his angry pacing. He squeezes his arm, silently comforting him as the seconds tick by.

James notices a trickle of blood escaping from Thomas's mouth and swears, loudly, uncaring of the teacher in the room. Either Thomas has bit his tongue or his cheek, or one of his previous injuries has made itself known again. Hamilton’s petting picks up tempo, until he's practically cradling Thomas's head in his lap.

“Mr Washington, please get the office to phone my mum, she'll come to the school with the necessary medication for Thomas” James directs, sending a sharp look to his teacher. “Don't. Call. Mr. Jefferson.” he punctuates his statement before turning to Laurens, who has been watching the scene through focused eyes. “Laurens, go get the nurse.” Laurens nods and runs off without a word.

Mr Washington gets off the phone before turning to the boys. “Your mother will arrive shortly.” he states, his voice full of questions he no doubt wants to spew.

“Six minutes.” Aaron's voice calls. James notices Thomas's convulsions beginning to settle, his body starting to sag as his mind is returned to him. His body begins to sporadically twitch, as though it has completely run out of energy and is riding the last of its waves. James lets out a sigh of relief, speaking in a low tone to Thomas, letting him know where he is and what happened. Thomas's body finally lays still, his breathing choppy and pained. He lets out a pitiful whine, his breath stilling in pain as he tries to move.

“Don't move, Jefferson,” Hamilton says, gently untangling his hands from Thomas's hair and setting them on top of his head instead. “We've got you.”

James feels his eyebrows disappear into his hairline, surprised at how gentle Hamilton is being, but he otherwise stays quiet.

Thomas cracks an eye open and his whine grows louder, scrunching it closed instantly at the piercing light that makes his brain scream. He feels his eyes begin to tear up at the pain, his nerve endings feeling as though they are on fire, every muscle strained and taught as though he had ran a marathon, swam a hundred miles, boxed with heavyweight champion and climbed all the steps up the Eiffel Tower all at once. He does  _ not  _ feel at all like  _ the  _ Thomas Jefferson, and that thought hurts even more than the pain radiating through his body. When did this become his life? He pushes his head back into the comforting hands on his head, feeling his body beginning to drift into sleep.

Laurens rushes back in with the nurse, and with some maneuvering, they manage to get Thomas off to the medical room, followed by Washington, Charles and surprisingly Hamilton. James shoots him a curious look, but doesn't say anything.

“Hey,” Laurens walks over to Aaron, who hadn't moved. “Are you okay?”

Aaron looks up, noticing how close Laurens is, close enough to count the freckles that dot adorably over his nose, to notice the vibrant green of his eyes, the delicate curl that must have escaped from his ponytail when he was running to get the nurse, and he's completely struck by how beautiful this man is. Realising that he's been staring at John instead of answering his question, he forces his blush away and looks away awkwardly.

“I…  uh. I'm fine, well, no I'm not but. There isn't much I can do and…  he always feels awful after the seizures and it takes him a while to get back into the swing of things and-. I wish” Aaron is mortified when he feels himself tearing up, but his embarrassment is quickly forgotten as images of Thomas flash into his mind - Thomas sitting down at their study table, face swollen and bruises obviously covered, his hesitancy when sitting down, the small gasp of pain and the way his arm curled around his chest when someone bumped into him in the hallway, the vacant look in his eyes throughout classes, the blood running out his mouth as his body twitches- Aaron realises belatedly that tears are running down his face. “I wish there was more… more that I could do for him.” his breathing hitches and his body rocks with his silent sobs.

Aaron sees John's shoes as he steps closer to him, and then there's a hand at the back of his neck, pushing him forward onto John's shoulder and another hand holding him around his shoulders.

“I know it hurts to see your friend in pain and think you can't do anything,” John whispers, his words fanning out over Aaron's ear, “but I promise, Aaron,” he inclines his head until his lips are almost pressed against Aaron's cheek, and Aaron has no hope of making his blush go away as his tears continue to fall. “I promise that by being his friend, and being there for him, you've helped him a million times over.” and then John presses his lips to Aaron's cheek, letting them linger as Aaron tries to mentally process what has just happened.

“Feel any better?” John asks after Aaron has lifts his head off his shoulder.

“Much.” Aaron manages to choke out, offering John a tentative smile, wiping his puffy eyes.

“Come on then,” John grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together, kissing the back of his hand. Aaron waits for his head to explode with the sudden blood rush. “Let's go see how our guy in magenta is doing.” And with that he pulls Aaron out of the abandoned classroom with an equally cheeky and comforting smile. “And then, maybe after that, we could organise a coffee date?” John actually looks nervous, his hand squeezing Aaron's.

“I'd like that, I'd like that a lot!” Aaron stammers, a grin spreading over his face.

“Awesome- I mean uh, cool. Yeah, I look forward to it.

‘Suck it, Hamilton’ Aaron thinks as he walks hand in hand with John to the nurse’s office. ‘You do get something if you wait for it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Burr reacts to Thomas's seizure is pretty much me every time Kyle decides to take one of his 5 minute breaks from the world (inconsiderate Bro). Thanks to Kyle anyway (who mysteriously found my fic through some voodoo shit) for telling me what it feels like to come back to the world after a full blown seizure.   
> Also, thank you all for your lovely kind comments and kudos, I'm looking for a beta reader because I usually finished these chapters at 4am and it would be great to find someone to read over my shit before I post. Email me at dancewithaginger@yahoo.com (I made it when I was 12 don't laugh)


	5. JUST A QUICK NOTE

Hello I'm Kyle just here to say shit has hit the fan. Any Jewish readers will know Monday was the last day of passover and some real bad stuff has happened to our family during that time. So as you can imagine everything is on hold. Charlie will be back soon though, dude is made of elastic.

But yeah. This won't be updated this week and probs next week too. Keep us in your prayers.


	6. Not Goodbye Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note

I thank everyone for their continued support of this story, their kind comments and continuous kudos.  
My brother and I, and our family, went through a really tough time last year. We dealt with a lot of antisemitism from people in our neighbour hood which resulted in swastikas being spray-painted on our front door and rocks thrown through our living room window.  
It's difficult, to write a story which deals with such dark content as this fic does, when your real life reflects the darkness of the one around you.   
It put me and Kyle in a really dark place. We were forced to move house and that uprooted us from a lot of close friends.   
It really knocked my passion to write anything.   
We're healing though. It's been a year and a bit, and though it still hurts, we're getting there.   
So, this isn't goodbye to A Makeshift Roof, it's a see you soon. When I'm well enough to write these darker tales without falling into that darkness myself.   
Thank you for your support.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy, and I'll see you next chapter :D Please tell me if any tags need to be added, or if you think the rating should go up!


End file.
